You know the leaf-whirling
,chilling kind I mean.which
you turn up you r collar through
and push on toward bright home.

but we were small and
did not yet know of
forgetting.

The beyond new some day
lost in tumbling nowmoments
(of a hand on a hip,
a wind from atop a cliff

)a regret ,lost.knickknack.of
pasthood , found and remembered
&savored as so much sweet
forgetme(k)not tied as tongues
)a fire that did burn,then
in our smaller souls

as with all things, ended
&now the storm and the bright
field are the same here, and now
in our hall where exist skulls
which have crumbled
to dust ,we wait
for the evensong
splitting nightday
into sheetswe recognize,b(il)lowing
at a blu
e sky ,